


Final Countdown

by orphan_account



Series: Stucky AUs [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting that well deserved break, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9109681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bucky's quiet break didn't include chatty neighbours in the warnings- but maybe that's because there's nothing to be warned about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, all! Posting this with airport wifi via my phone
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://wonderfullywandering-alone.tumblr.com/)

The pale starlight glows across the lake, and although it looks inviting, Bucky is not tempted to jump in. 

 

The air’s nippy against his bare cheeks, and he tucks his neck further into his scarf, savouring the warmth. 

 

“Good fuckin riddance,” he mutters to himself as an icy breeze sweeps through. The water shimmers, rippling the reflections, and it's so beautifully tranquil Bucky almost wants to write poetry about it. 

 

The mechanical beep of his watch startles him, and he hauls himself to his feet. 

 

“Three days left,” Bucky sighs to himself as he heads from the lake shore back to the house. 

 

\---

 

Bucky wakes with pale sunlight on his face because he forgot to shut the goddamn curtains when he came inside last night. He tries to lie there on the lumpy couch, but the bright light makes him want to sneeze and he needs to pee too bad. 

 

He puts the coffee on as he passes the kitchen, more than ready to take a cup down to the lake. 

 

Mid-winter wasn't always Bucky’s favourite time of year- especially as a kid when all he wanted was to swim and run around bare-foot, taunting his sisters into climbing the highest and eating fruit straight off the trees. But now, with the empty bay and frosty grass, steaming cup of coffee in his hand, Bucky has never felt so content. 

 

It's not cold enough for the lake to freeze over, but it's cold enough to stop anyone from wanting to come up for the break. 

 

The lake's flat today, and Bucky can still see the bottom from the end of the jetty. There are tiny fish- little cockebillies or something. They dart from pebble to pebble, chasing each other through the small plants. 

 

A dog barks. The fish race for cover and Bucky looks up. The dog stands at the start of the jetty, tail wagging and head tilted. It's healthy and its coat is sleek, and as happy as Bucky is to see a dog, his heart sinks because it means he isn't alone up here anymore. 

 

“Hey, pup.” He calls out to it with his arm extended, because he's not some sort of monster. The dog wags its tail harder and trots up to Bucky. 

 

“You're pretty, aren't you?” Bucky coos when she's close enough for him to reach. She pants, slowly blinking her eyes closed as she settles down beside him. Bucky moves his coffee so she can rest her head in his lap. The fish don't come back, but the dog more than makes up for it. 

 

\---

 

“Sorry about her,” someone says when Bucky’s on the verge of sleep. He didn't sleep well last night, but that's entirely his own fault. He has the house to himself yet he sleeps on the couch. He kind of deserves to feel stiff and exhausted. 

 

“Don't be,” Bucky says, dragging his fingers through the dog's fur as he looks up. It's clouded over, but the glare is enough to make Bucky squint up at the man. “She's lovely.”

 

“She's an attention seeker,” the guy scoffs, sitting down on the dog's other side. “It's cold out, surprised to see someone else here for the week.” 

 

Bucky shrugs. So what if he's spending new year's alone at a lake too cold to swim in? It's his own choice. 

 

“Same goes,” he says, swinging his foot. The water's not high enough for the toe of his boot to get wet, but the movement causes the water to ripple under it. 

 

“I live here,” the guy explains, as if Bucky asked for him to share. Bucky grunts. “In the Erskine’s old place. He's retired, I'm the new caretaker of the bay.” 

 

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Thanks for mowing my lawn.” 

 

The guy laughs, warm and rich and too loud for Bucky’s quiet morning. 

 

“I'm going to make lunch,” Bucky says abruptly, standing up. The dog stands up with him, but settles back down against her guy's side. The guy looks at him, a silent question in his eyes. Bucky can't understand it so he steps around him and heads down the jetty. 

 

“Goodbye,” he says. 

 

“See you round, Barnes.”

 

Bucky freezes for a split second, wondering how the guy got his name. (Then he remembers the sign on the gate to his family’s property, and that the guy is the caretaker and would know which house is which.) 

 

\---

 

Lunch consists of last night's spag bol and a green apple from the fruit bowl. He reheats the pasta in the microwave, snacking on the apple while he waits for it to warm up.

 

If Bucky stands at the front window he can see down to the lake, a little slither of blue leading into the green bush on the other side. 

 

He can see the dark clouds rolling in, and the dog sniffing her way back to the grass before disappearing out of sight. The guy- the caretaker- still sits on Bucky’s jetty. There's a break in the clouds momentarily and the sun peeks through, shining golden in his hair. His legs dangle off the edge, toes just breaking the surface if he tips them down far enough. He's got jandals on, the fool. 

 

The microwave beeps, startling Bucky away from the window. He busies himself in setting the table for one, chucking his finished apple core into the cluster of trees outside the kitchen window. 

 

When Bucky looks back down at the lake, the caretaker is gone.

 

\---

 

Bucky has a jigsaw. Becca gave it to him years ago, but he's never gotten around to opening it. He's always been too busy, never had the time. 

 

He has time now, though. Plenty of it. 

 

He sets it out on the table, dividing the pieces up into Edges and Other.

 

It's a meticulous process, especially with only one hand, but it absorbs his attention and Bucky loses himself into the world of the picture. 

 

It could be minutes or hours later when Bucky looks up. The clock on the wall needs new batteries, and he didn't check his watch before he started. 

 

The dog's on the steps outside the doors, her breath fogging up the glass. Bucky smiles fondly as he unlocks the door, swinging it open. 

 

“Should you be here?” He asks her, stepping aside as she invites herself in. She yawns, licking her jaws as she does so. Bucky nods to himself. 

 

“Okay,” he says. She has a red collar on, a little gold nametag hanging from it.  _ MAGGIE _ , it reads on one side in pretty cursive.  _ Steve Rogers _ , it says on the other, with a phone number printed below. 

 

“Hello, Maggie,” Bucky says softly, ruffling the fur around her collar. “I'm Bucky. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Arf,” Maggie says.

 

Bucky leaves the door pegged back despite the cold. He wants Maggie to be able to leave, seeing as she is pretty keen to come inside. 

 

“I haven't got any food for you,” he tells her. She doesn't seem bothered, just settles down on the rug and watches him get back to his puzzle. 

 

It's not until Bucky gets up to make himself another coffee that he passes the front window again. 

 

The lake is grey under the thick clouds, and the caretaker walks past Bucky’s sightline. He looks around as he wanders, and Bucky can just make out a frown on his face. 

 

“I think he's looking for you,” Bucky says to Maggie. She lifts her head up, slowly blinks at him, then lays her chin back down on her paws. Bucky rolls his eyes and pours some coffee into his travel mug. 

 

“C’mon, Mags. We're going,” Bucky calls, toeing on his shoes. Maggie watches him through her lashes but doesn't move. 

 

“Come on, girl,” Bucky tries again, but she still doesn't move. 

 

“Fine, suit yourself,” Bucky mutters. Maggie's tail thumps against the ground and Bucky leaves her to it, opting to find Steve Rogers instead. 

 

Steve's down at the lake when Bucky gets there, worn jeans on and hoodie zipped over his chest. 

 

“I didn't steal her,” Bucky says when he's close enough to be heard without raising his voice. Steve startles and turns to face Bucky. 

 

“What?” He asks, sweeping his short hair off his face. Bucky squints up at him, wishing he had his sunglasses for the glare. 

 

“I didn't steal her, but she's at my house. I left the door open but she won't leave.”

 

“Oh!” Steve says. “I'm sorry! She can be real stubborn, I'm sorry she's bothering you.”

 

“She's not,” Bucky shrugs. “You looked worried.” 

 

“She's a strong swimmer and is used to living by a lake, but sometimes I can't help but imagine the worst,” Steve admits. 

 

“She's okay,” Bucky promises, taking a sip of his coffee. It's kind of cold, and a bit too bitter, but it's better than nothing. He takes another sip as he turns back to his house. 

 

“Are you coming?” He asks Steve when he realises the caretaker isn't following him. 

 

“Oh!” Steve says, jumping into motion. “Yes, I- yeah, I'm coming.”

 

They walk to the house in a silence that could be awkward if Bucky cared enough. The walk itself isn't far, though, and as soon as Maggie sees them she jumps up and runs to Steve.

 

“Atta girl!” Steve laughs and bends down to pat his dog. She's happy to see him, jumping up to lick his face. Bucky smiles and looks away, somehow feeling like he's intruding on the moment. 

 

“Barnes!” Steve calls when he realises Bucky’s gone inside. Bucky stops in his tracks, waiting for Steve to continue. 

 

“Thank you. For coming and getting me,” Steve says hesitantly. “I was getting worried.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “She's cute.”

 

Steve's face lights up at that, but before he can continue the conversation, Bucky interrupts.

 

“Goodbye, Steve.”

 

It's a dick move, but Bucky’s learning to do things for himself and being alone is what he came here for.

\---

 

Maggie joins Bucky for his midnight countdown on the jetty. Her presence makes him antsy, because it means Steve's not far off. 

 

It's warmer tonight with the thick clouds to trap the little heat in. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of winter air off the lake. He can hear the quiet lapping of the water on the rocks, and the occasional hoot of an owl, and- sure enough, heavy footsteps. 

 

“She found you again,” Steve says, settling down on Bucky’s left. He sits close, shoulder brushing Bucky’s. Bucky flinches, jolting away from Steve. His coffee sloshes around in his travel mug and he pulls his legs up, drawing himself into a ball. 

 

“Shit, I'm sorry!” Steve apologises, looking like he wants to help but doesn't know how. Bucky swallows and takes a deep breath. 

 

“S’okay,” he says, because it is. It really is, Bucky was just surprised. Unprepared. Whatever. 

 

“No, fuck,” Steve sighs. He moves to get up, but Bucky shakes his head. 

 

“S’okay,” he repeats. “Really.” 

 

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” Steve says, caught in an awkward limbo between sitting down and standing up. Bucky glances at his watch. 

 

“Four minutes to midnight,” Bucky says. “You'll be fine.”

 

Steve hesitates, uncertainty written all over his posture, but eventually settles back down next to Bucky. There's more distance between them now, and Bucky closes his eyes again. 

 

“You knew my name,” Steve says, breaking the silence. Bucky hums in agreement. 

 

“Maggie's collar.”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

Bucky smiles to himself, but hides it in a sip of coffee. It's warm this time, and perfectly sweet. 

 

“What's your name?” Steve asks when it becomes clear Bucky won't offer it himself. 

 

“Bucky.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve says with a note of absolute sincerity. 

 

“Don't speak too soon,” Bucky mutters into his mug. Steve doesn't hear him, which is probably for the best. 

 

“I really hope you don't mind Maggie,” Steve says after a moment, as if he's physically incapable of sitting in silence. Bucky grunts again, draining the last of his coffee. 

 

“She's good. Love dogs.” 

 

“Yeah. She loves new people, new places. I reckon if she was a human she'd go travelling a lot.” 

 

Bucky doesn't know what to say to that, but he's saved from answering by the beep of his watch. 

 

2 days left. 

 

“That's midnight,” Bucky says, dragging himself upright. Steve blinks up at him, a slight crease in his forehead. 

 

“Oh. Goodnight, then.”

 

“Night,” Bucky says, turning his back on Steve and walking down the jetty. 

 

“See you tomorrow! Or later today, I guess,” he continues. Bucky’s lips quirk up in the corners, but he's hidden in the shadows, facing the wrong way.

 

\---

 

In Bucky’s dreams, he can fly.

 

He soars above the lake, under the stars. Both arms stretched out, and he is at peace. 

 

\---

 

Bucky wakes up most definitely on the  _ right _ side of the bed- couch- for a change. 

 

He has his morning coffee, fiddling over his puzzle while it cools. The wind has picked up since yesterday, blowing the clouds over the hills. The sun's out and Bucky decides he'll go for a run before breakfast, just in case the weather turns south later on. 

 

He runs a route through the dense bush, the overgrown bushes he's used to actually trimmed back this year. Steve must be keeping busy. 

 

Buckys hot and sweaty by the time he gets back home, but his good mood still shines through, even when he sees Maggie waiting on his porch. 

 

“Does Steve know you're here?” He asks her, nudging her aside so he can open the door. 

 

“Sure do!” Steve calls out from somewhere next door. Bucky cranes his neck but can't see him anywhere. 

 

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, pausing in the doorway. 

 

“Trimming hedges,” Steve says, still out of sight. 

 

“That's not part of the job description,” Bucky points out. “It's private property, not council land.” 

 

“I know. But I'm living here and most families only visit once a year. And it's not like I don't have the time.” 

 

“I guess,” Bucky hums, pegging the door back so Maggie can come and go. “I'm going to have a shower, but there's coffee if you'd like some.” 

 

He can't hear Steve's response, but he fills up the plunger and leaves two mugs out.

  
  
  


Steve's inside when Bucky gets out of the shower, leaning over the puzzle with a piece in his hand. 

 

“Cool puzzle,” he says, glancing up as Bucky comes in. Bucky pours his own coffee and comes to sit by Steve. 

 

“Mm,” Bucky agrees.

 

“You don't talk much,” Steve observes, then visibly winces. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that-”

 

“I get,” Bucky interrupts, then draws a blank. He waits for Steve to cut him off, or try finish his sentence for him, but Steve just waits patiently. 

 

“I get blocks,” Bucky says. “Find it hard to talk. Or just don't want to. Comes ‘n goes.”

 

“Oh,” Steve says. It's like his favourite word or something, but who's Bucky to judge language on, right? “I'm sorry if I made it hard.” 

 

“S’fine,” Bucky promises, and finds he actually means it.

 

“We don't have to talk,” Steve says. “If you just want the company.”

 

Bucky looks at Steve, the way he's so obviously  _ not  _ looking at Bucky, but pressed to the back of his chair like he can feel Buckys body heat through it. It must get lonely up here all year round. 

 

“I can listen,” Bucky says, and the smile Steve gives him reminds Bucky that there is still beauty in the world.

 

\---

 

Steve joins Bucky again tonight, this time with coffee. 

 

“I didn't realise you had your own,” he says as he settles down next to Bucky. 

 

“Just finished it” Bucky says. “Thanks.”

 

It's too dark to see, but the coffee is black with no sugar, and Bucky fights the urge to spit it straight out.

 

“You at the lake for long?” Steve asks, blissfully unaware of Bucky’s struggle to drink the coffee. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. The coffee sits in his hand. 

 

Steve waits quietly for what seems to be the first time since they met while Bucky forms his follow-up reply. 

 

“It's quiet here,” he says eventually. “My therapist thought it would be good for me.” 

 

“It's very quiet here,” Steve agrees, voice barely a murmur. 

 

Steve's on Bucky’s right. Their shoulders aren't touching, but there's no real reason why not. Everyone gets lonely, and Steve's so obviously craving human contact. He's on Buckys  _ right.  _

 

Bucky leans over just enough for their shoulders to brush, and with that inch Steve takes a mile. He slumps against Bucky, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. The warmth is nice. 

 

“Must get lonely,” Bucky tries, hoping he isn't hitting a raw spot. 

 

“It's mostly fine,” Steve says nonchalantly. “I see other council workers, the grocers. I have Maggie.” 

 

Bucky nods, drinking more of his godawful coffee. Maybe if Steve lived with someone he’d treat himself to better coffee.

 

“For four months a year this place gets busy. That's a third of the time. I'm definitely not lonely then,” Steve says, as if he has to prove himself. 

 

“Super busy,” Bucky laughs. 

 

“Exactly. I recharge my company-batteries and bring them out in winter if I need them.” 

 

Bucky laughs again, and Steve laughs with him, nudging him in the side. 

 

“It's okay, really. I do see people, I do get out. And this place is so amazing, there's nowhere else I'd rather live. I've got Maggie. And you, for the next few days.”

 

“Months,” Bucky says. “Could be months. I have no plans to leave.”

 

“Huh,” Steve grins. “Cool.”

 

“Worst months of your life,” Bucky warns with a smirk. Steve laughs and shakes his head. 

 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Steve tells him. “Do you like fishing?”

 

“Never been,” Bucky admits. “Why?”  

 

Before Steve can reply, Bucky’s watch beeps. Midnight. This time tomorrow it will be 2017. 

 

“I'm taking the boat out tomorrow,” Steve says as they stand up. Bucky still hasn't finished the coffee. “You could come?”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky smiles. 

 

“Want me to take the mug?” Steve offers with his hand out. Bucky shakes his head. 

 

“Not finished. Tomorrow.”

 

“Okay. Good night, Buck. See you in the morning.”

 

\---

 

Steve knocks on Buckys door just after eight, and Buckys glad he pulled the curtains last night so Steve couldn't see him passed out on the couch. 

 

“It's early,” Bucky grumbles as he opens the door. Steve beams at him. 

 

“I've already been for a run,” he boasts, the damn show off. Bucky scowls and puts the coffee on. 

 

“You don't have to come fishing, if you don't want to,” Steve offers. “No hard feelings.”

 

“I'll come,” Bucky says. “Just let me get dressed.”

 

They make it onto Steve's boat before 9 and while Steve doesn't seem overly impressed, Bucky is amazed with himself.

 

“Fishing is better in summer,” Steve explains as he drives the boat out to the middle of the lake, “but the lake's clean and healthy so I still occasionally get something in the winter.”

 

Maggie's up on the seat next to Bucky, a little orange lifevest on and her head hanging out the side. Her eyes are closed in pure bliss and her tongue’s hanging out of her mouth, bouncing in the wind. Bucky leans over and copies her. 

 

“Sorry to spoil your fun,” Steve says when the boat comes to a stop. Bucky opens his eyes and sits up straight, looking around. The water shines silver beneath them, looking dark and cold. “We've arrived. Welcome to the Fishing Hole!”

 

“Looks like the rest of the lake,” Bucky points out. 

 

“Nah, it gets real deep here so lots of fish live around,” Steve explains as he sets up the rods. “Come over here, I'll show you how to handle it.” 

 

Bucky does as he's told and Steve talks him through how it works and which bait to use. 

 

“There you go,” Steve says proudly once they've cast their lines. “You're practically a fisherman!” 

 

“Not til I get something,” Bucky snorts. Maggie barks her agreement but Steve just hip-checks Bucky as he makes his way to the front of the boat. 

 

“I'm gonna put on some music. Any requests?” Steve asks, setting up a small speaker. Bucky shakes his head and watches as Steve plugs his iPod in and turns it all on. 

 

Steve's music is nice, pretty. It could be the gentle rocking of the boat, or the water lapping at its sides, or it could be the fresh air, but when Bucky closes his eyes and leans back, he feels like he can breathe again. 

 

“They're called Sigur Rós,” Steve says quietly as he sits down next to Bucky. On Bucky’s right, shoulders touching. Bucky smiles, enjoying the weak sunlight on his face.

 

“S’pretty,” Bucky sighs. “Could fall asleep.”

 

“They're Icelandic, and I think I heard somewhere that they use a mix of Icelandic and English in their songs. Just enough that in some of them, you can only understand if you speak both languages.” 

 

Bucky listens as Steve talks more about the music, his fingers tapping along to the pings in the songs. Steve's fingers brush against his, caught between Bucky’s beat and the bench cushion. He moves ever so slightly with each thrum until his hand migrates under Bucky’s, a softer surface for his fingers to bounce off.

 

“This one's called Star Elf,” Steve says at the start of a new song. Bucky’s eyes are still closed, but he can hear the smile in Steve's voice. His hand comes to a stop, resting on top of Steve's. 

 

The music rises, the boat sways, and although he's awake, Bucky feels asthough he is flying once again.

 

\---

 

He doesn't realise he sleeps, but he wakes with a start when Steve jumps up. 

 

“We got something!” Steve exclaims, reeling in the line. Bucky jumps to his feet, peering over the edge of the boat. 

 

Steve pulls it up, and as it breaks the surface it flicks Bucky in the face with water. He laughs and wipes his face dry with his sleeve. 

 

“A bit small, but better than nothing,” Steve grins, unhooking it and dropping it into a bucket. Maggie's excited, her little tail wagging her whole butt. 

 

“What happens now?” Bucky asks. 

 

“We kill it. Have it for dinner,” Steve says. “Unless that makes you uncomfortable? I can put it back if you'd like.” 

 

Bucky shakes his head. “We already got it. Let's eat it.” 

 

\---

 

Steve lights a small bonfire on the beach that night. The sky's cleared and there's still no moon, and the stars glow above them. 

 

“Gotta be one ofmy favourite things about the lake,” Steve murmurs, following Buckys gaze. “They're so clear out here. I don't miss the light pollution of the city, that's for sure.” 

 

Bucky couldn't agree more. He loves the city, but everything happens so much there, so much noise and light and life-

 

It's beautiful, and it's home, but it's a different sort of home here and he's not so sure he prefers the bustle of the city. 

 

“Is that for me?” Steve asks, gesturing at the mugs Bucky brought down. Bucky nods and holds out his hand. 

 

“The blue one,” he says. Steve takes it from him, holding it to his face to breathe in the scent. 

 

“I love the smell of coffee,” Steve sighs, settling down in the sand by the fire. The fish is spit roasting in front of them and Bucky sits down next to Steve, adjusting the blanket on his shoulders so Steve can fit under too. 

 

“I could live off coffee,” Bucky admits, gaze locked on the flames. 

 

“You'd get the shits,” Steve tells him. Bucky laughs. 

 

“Worth it,” he says, just to feel Steve laugh into his side. Worth it. 

 

\---

 

“Where do you want to count down?” Steve asks after they've eaten the fish. The fire's mostly out, but the embers are still glowing with a sleepy warmth. 

 

“We can stay here,” Bucky suggests. “I'm warm.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Steve agrees, stretching his legs out in front of them. Maggie shifts from her spot next to him and yawns, blinking up at them. 

 

“Good girl,” Steve murmirs absently as he pats her head. She wags her tail a couple of times before laying her head back down.

 

“Steve-” Bucky says, grabbing Steve's arm. Steve looks at Bucky, eyes wide and ready. “The time.”

 

He follows Bucky’s gaze to his watch, counting down the seconds to midnight. 

 

“Ten,” Steve says, shifting himself so he and Bucky are face to face. “Nine, eight,seven, six.” 

 

Bucky closes his eyes, trying to forget the shitstorm of 2016.

 

“Five.”

 

It's okay, it's almost over.

 

“Four.”

 

Steve's knee knocks against Bucky’s.

 

“Three.”

 

Bucky opens his eyes, locks his gaze with Steve's. 

 

“Two.”

 

He's gonna-

 

“One.”

 

Steve kisses him, gentle and warm, hand coming up to cup Buckys jaw. 

 

It's over before it begins, and Bucky pulls away slowly. 

 

“Happy new year,” Steve says. 

 

Bucky means to say it back, but what come out is, “Please tell me that wasn't because you’re lonely.”

 

Steve jokts back, eyes wide and jaw slack. 

 

“Bucky-  _ no,” _ he begins, but Bucky cuts him off. 

 

“Good,” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss Steve again. 

 

It's been less than a minute, but 2017 is already looking better than last year.


End file.
